


Southern Hospitality

by orphan_account



Category: Homestuck
Genre: AU, Chubstuck, Fat - Freeform, Fatkink, Fatstuck, Homestuffed, Humanstuck, M/M, Stuffing, Weight Gain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-10
Updated: 2020-05-10
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24104866
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Wherein Karkat Vantas moves to a small town in the middle of buttfuck nowhere, and realizes his new roommate is meeting all of his standards.----ALTERNATIVELY: A humanstuck au where Dave is a real obese apple farmer with the classic kind sweet southern attitude along with his coolness, and may has a problem with treating his guests, grumpiness or otherwise.
Relationships: Dave Strider/Karkat Vantas
Comments: 7
Kudos: 45





	Southern Hospitality

The countryside is nothing more than a blur as you drive past it- yellow corn into yellow wheat into yellow sunflowers. It's all yellow, a disgusting conglomerate of piss yellow that only reminds you of your piss poor attempts at being in a relationship, and it makes you want to rip out your hair and scream. You would, no questions asked, but you can't exactly rip chunks of your hair from your head while you're driving. Instead you let your knuckles turn white as you grip the steering wheel with clear irritation, eyes squinting against the harsh sun reflecting off your windows.

Your name is Karkat Vantas. You're technically supposed to be at the tail end of your second year in college, but you fucked off from University as soon as you flunked history of film. To put it frankly, you are a piece of shit at college, so you don't deserve to continue it. Maybe you can get some deadend job at a supermarket and live out your days bagging eggs and milk, only ranking up to become a manager so you can boss around little kids who similarly fell in shit's creek education wise. It's not a thought you'd like to indulge in. You shake your head free of your self deprecating thoughts and focus on the task ahead of you: finding your roommate's stupid fucking house in the middle of nowhere.

He messaged you, a few days after you set up the offer on Craigslist. Talked in some weird fucked mutation of false 90's coolness and southern drawl. At least in his texts. You hated him immediately, but he was the only one not demanding shared rent, so you decided to go ahead and move in with him. Sure, you were worried at first- that he was some axe murderer, or fetishistic nightmare of a man, probably dressed in some fucked smelly fursuit. You were just _like_ that. But you calmed yourself down. What's some Texan going to do to you? Reenact Texas Chainsaw Massacre? He typed like he wouldn't hurt a fly. You were fine. You were fine.

The small town he lived nearby was... minuscule, to say the least. Small dirt roads with the only paved being the main street, running in one vertical line. Downtown consisted of small mom n' pop shops and diners, and a small park that had obviously seen better days. Old fashioned houses lined the neighbors with literal white picket fences, and you feel like you've jumped right through the Twilight Zone and into a reality where the 50's were considered high art. It was nothing like the bustling city you grew up in, and you swore the locals were giving you stares like you were some greasy weasel. You can feel the term 'city slicker' stamped onto your forehead.

That main paved road fell away into bumpy dirt road, and you find yourself amongst acres of apple trees. The apples are massive and nearly shining red as you pass, and you vaguely wonder if you were stepping into yet another portal into yet another realm. You've never seen apples so huge, not even at farmer's markets. 

The realization hits you when you pull up into a dusty, dirt parking spot. This guy was a fucking farmer. 

His house looks like a literal fucking stereotype of it all- old but homely, with peeling white paint in corners and a large porch situated at the front. There's a rickety screen door leading to some old red painted door, and you can see thick curtains pulled over the windows. There's a beat up old truck next to your own car, painted red, and wow, this guy must really love the color red, huh. You shrug away your small bit of dread, stepping onto a slightly overgrown cobblestone path, eyeing a few swords that stick out of the ground.

Okay, yeah, you were really filled with dread now.

A hand running through your hair, you calm yourself. The steps up the porch creaked softly under your worn sneakers, and you spot a few empty crates seated next to a swinging chair that looked like something out of a grandparent's home. Is this guy some grandfather or something? Why the fuck are there _swords_ sticking out of the dirt? This really isn't helping your panic, and before you decide that this was an entirely shitty idea, you swing open the screen door and knock on the wooden one behind it.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

You hear nothing, at first. Just silence. But soon you hear the sound of steps against old floorboards, approaching in a slow, lumbering speed, and the door creaks open. 

Oh.

This man is possibly the fattest man you've ever seen. His gut hangs out of the doorway in front of him, near inches from your face, and you can see it gently quivering with each breath he takes in. He's wearing overalls that are fit to burst, as well with a red and black flannel, sleeves rolled up his flabby arms. He's wider than two of you combined, with massive rolling hips that are most likely supporting an ass of similar girth. His cheeks are rosy and demeanor even rosier, and his thick chin dimples off into two as he smiles. "Hello there." You can't see his eyes behind his sunglasses, but you expect he's staring at you. 

"Uh." Your mouth, once constantly readied with ammo to sling at everyone around you, is suddenly as barren and dry as the Sahara desert. "I'm- I'm Karkat Vantas. Your roommate, right?"

The obese man in front of you tugs a handkerchief from a pocket on his overalls, and wipes it across his forehead. You can see that he's nearly drenched in sweat, exuding a musk that can only be described as... sweet. Sweaty, cozy, and certainly apple-y. "Well, I'll be." His gut jiggles as he moves. "I didn't expect you to come until tomorrow! Guess my sense of time finally ran out of wack." He chuckles, deep and smooth, and you decide that it perfectly matches his southern drawl. "Come on in, Karkat. Good thing I made at least a couple a things here."

He turns, slow and lumbering, and you can see that his ass is absolutely as fat as you imagined. It wobbles and jiggles with each step he takes, and you shake away your persistent flush. Was the flush in nervousness or excitement? You honestly have no clue, and you don't exactly mind that fact.

His place looks like a mutated abomination of a farmer's house from the 50's, and a modern day nightmare of a geek's. He's got a turntable set up in his living room, wires snaking across the floor, above a homemade cross-stitched rug. Swords hang gracefully from the walls in decorative holders, and he has floral patterned furniture that looks extremely comfortable. Cabinets are covered in magazines and comic books, a few posters of some country artists you don't recognize are hanging from empty spaces on his wall, flattened out and put into frames.

His kitchen is much the same. There's a massive dining table, most likely there just to deal with the amount of fat this man is carrying. He has to carefully navigate lest his protruding belly and wobbling rump bump into anything, and he's waddling very widely. You notice piping hot pies on the windowsill above his sink; you can nearly see the steam still coming from them. A tall pitcher of apple juice sits on the marble counter, dripping with perspiration. 

"How's this Texan weather faring you?" You're startled into attention with the other's words, watching as he opens up the fridge. "Only seems to get hotter and hotter over here. I'm sweating like a hog in a line for slaughter!" He grunts, breath wheezing, bending down to retrieve things from the fridge. His belly oozes and spills against his legs, thick double chin smothering against his moobs. 

"Oh, yeah. It's... pretty fucking hot." You nervously sit on one of the dining chairs. There's a circle shaped lace covering on the hardwood tabletop, though there's a lightning shaped cut in the middle of it. The soft singsong voices of birds from the open window create relatively decent background noise to your newfound roommate's wheezes and groans.

He sets something in front of you, the door clicking close with a shut. "I'm Dave." He smiles, chest huffing up and down. "Don't mind the weight none. People are always nervous when they see someone like me." He laughs, voice dripping with southern hospitality, and you weakly smile in response. Who can say no to a voice like that?

"Truth is," Dave's not bothered by your silence. He moves to the windowsill, slipping on oven mitts, taking the two fresh pies in his hands. They're massive. Utterly, truly massive. Fresh smells waft through the air, and you can't lie- they look really fucking delicious. "you've been taking it much better than others."

He places them beside the other object on the table. "Really?" You ask. You take a chance to speak what's on your mind. "What, does everyone else think you're some muscular hot stud?"

Dave laughs, a deep chortle from the basin of his multi-rolled belly, making it bounce and bounce. He places the pitcher of apple juice on the table. "Oh, no. My sister believes this is some psychological thing from my childhood. Love her to bits, but this ain't part of no childhood issue. Others just look disgusted, really. They don't wanna believe someone can just be fat as can be!" 

Despite his deep waddle, he sets up the table quickly- plates, cups, silverware. He even pours your massive cup full of fresh apple juice, before filling his, much bigger, mug. When he finally sits down across from you, he sighs, the two chairs he's sitting on screaming in agony.

"There." Dave sighs. "That really makes a belly hungry."

You have nothing more than a bit of heated up casserole, while he just took the rest of the leftovers and began to stuff himself. He's digging into it with his bare hands- and surprisingly, he's fairly clean about it. He licks his fingers and wipes his spills with the end of his cloth napkin, humming deeply in pleasure as he fills himself with enough food for five. Apple pie crumbs fall from his fingers as he pulls out a huge slice, licking his lips before he presses the warm, soft pie into his mouth.

He grunts, swallows thickly, and continues.

He even drains all of his jug of juice, belly softly bouncing, one hand rubbing over the soft, quivering surface as his drinking is accentuated with _gulp, gulp, gulp._ When he's finally done, he sighs outwardly, rubbing his thick, wobbly belly with chubby fingers. They dip into soft folds, rubbing expertly, and he unhooks his overalls. A surge of flesh springs forward, oozing and rolling to match gravity, pale flesh wobbling and jiggling as he rubs.

You've only finished half of your small slice.

"Aw, now." He hums, looking you over. "Having trouble with that pie over there?" With a deep groan, he waddles to his feet, and you soon feel a soft gut press around your head as he moves to stand behind you. It feels like a pillow, soft and warm and gentle, and you sink your head into the flabby folds. His voice is a murmuring drawl. "Sit your pretty little head right there, Karkat. I'm real good at filling bellies."

"First things first..." Chubby fingers hook onto your pie slice, gooey apple filling dripping from his hand. "...open your mouth, sweet thing. A Strider lesson is a hands on interactive experience."

Your flush is certainly much deeper than before. You feel a twinge in your pants, and you obediently open up. Warm pie filling clogs your tastebuds; it's the best pie you've ever eaten, and you swallow with vigor.

You finish off the slice with little trouble, licking his chubby fingers free of crumbs and splotches of pie filling. He chuckles, his thick belly softly quivering against the back of your head. "It's real good to take little sips between each slice." You expect he's thinking about massive gulps. You similarly guzzle a mouthful of cold, icy juice when he lifts the cup to your lips. The twinge in your pants becomes harder to ignore. "That's it, that's it... you're learnin' real fast, you know that? It's not often I see such a skinny darlin' eatin' like he has meat on his bones." 

His southern accent is growing thicker. You vaguely wonder if he's experiencing the same thing you're feeling, but you're interrupted with another slice. A huge, gargantuan slice. You moan around the mouthful, munching greedily, pie filling dribbling past your chin. "Bigger portions lead to better managing your intake." Dave murmurs sweetly. "Always push yourself at every meal. That's how I got this nice and fat."

You swallow the pie, and take another guzzle of apple juice. "Do I... wanna be fat?" You answer thickly.

"You wanna be like me?" He rubs his gut back and forth, and you can hear the gurgles and rumbles it produces. It's loud, much louder than others you've met, and you can't ignore it any longer- your dick is hard and throbbing, tenting your baggy sweatpants. "We just met, darlin', but you're really lookin' to be an honorary Strider." Another slice is pressed gently against your lips. You take it in with a soft moan.

Between bites, you murmur. "What does... _gulp..._ that entail?"

His free hand inches downward, downward, before it rubs against your slowly expanding belly. He gently tugs up the hem of your sweater, fingers barely brushing against your skin, and you shiver. "Workin' on the farm, milkin' the cows out on the back, feedin' the chickens, you know..." You finish off the glass of apple juice with a heavy guzzle. "...Packin' away this and more, every night. I'm proud of my cookin' skills."

A finger brushes against the tent, and you groan around a flaky mouthful of pie. "Of course, I understand if a poor little city slicker can't handle all this hard work. You can sit back and relax here for as long as you'd like, filling up that belly of yours." He pops open the lid of a tub of ice cream. You groan at the sight: your gut is already visibly distended, pressing forward against the twitching form of your cock, threatening to spill into your lap. You're only halfway done with the pie, and you can't imagine that you can handle much more. "Get you nice and soft around them hard spots a yours." 

He fumbles with the hem of your pants and boxers, and pulls them down with surprising strength. Your dick springs forth, throbbing almost painfully, pre dribbling from the head in tiny little lines. "You'll get fatter and fatter every day, Karkat. You'll burst from clothes and break chairs, you'll eat enough for ten, and you'll pass my weight in a matter of months. You want to only eat my delicious pies, hm?"

His chubby fingers run up and down your shaft, and you moan around a mixed handful of ice cream and pie. His feeding hand is a mess of melted cream and pie crumbs. His gut is running against your head almost sensually, and his heavy breaths make his sweat more prominent, multiple pale rolls slick. The time flies. You don't realize you've eaten the whole pie until you're on your last slice, your belly nearly fit to burst. It's physically rubbing against your cock, almost massaging it along with Dave, and it's too much for you.

You nearly scream around the last slice, cum splattering your expanded stomach. A few pathetic lines run down your shaft, cock growing softer and softer as each second goes by. A mix of pleasure and pain keeps you in a constant feedback loop of sensation. You obediently lick every last drop of ice cream and flake of crumb on Dave's hand. 

He lifts you with surprising strength. "Don't jostle that belly of yours, hon." He purrs, leading you out of the kitchen. "Let's get you in a bed, eating that much for your little size must leave you exhausted." Your eyes flutter. Dave's right. 

"Since it's your first night, how 'bout we share?"

**Author's Note:**

> comments are always appreciated!! thank you <3
> 
> i love this idea and would love to continue more, so if you have ideas please feel free to show me!


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